


Playing Possum

by Butterfly



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen, Not Really Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-05
Updated: 2004-08-05
Packaged: 2017-10-26 18:21:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterfly/pseuds/Butterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack had hoped that it might be easier, the third time around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing Possum

**Author's Note:**

> **Timeline:** Post Season 5's _Revelations_. Deals with _Meridian_.

Standing at the edge of Daniel's living room, Jack can actually feel the ache of empty space.

The first time that this had happened, when it had all been new to him, it'd almost seemed like a game. A joke, maybe the first real one since Charlie. It'd fit that it was a dark, morbid one.

He'd had to convince General West that Daniel Jackson was dead. Finito. Blown to bits.

He can still hear the General's heavy sigh. West'd said something quietly, almost as if speaking to himself, something about throwing away Doctor Jackson's suitcases. Learning that Daniel didn't have anyone to notify in case of death hadn't been a huge shock -- everything about Daniel back then had screamed that this was someone with no roots, nothing to ground him to this earth -- but he'd surprised himself when he'd volunteered to take them. Surprised West too, and it'd taken a bit of quick talking to convince the General that it was a good idea. That he just wanted to remember the guy who'd died finding his men the way home.

Then, after that had all been sorted out, he'd resigned, told General West that since the Stargate on the other side was demolished, it would be pointless for him to stay. After all, he'd argued, that was the only thing he'd been brought back to do. It'd been almost disappointing, how willing West'd been to let him go.

But he hadn't been on the mission to make friends.

He'd ended up going home to an unexpectedly empty house, filled with barren spaces where Sara'd taken out the things that were hers. He'd felt the same lost ache that he could feel now, stranded in a home emptied of the only thing that had made it one.

Despite that, there was still so much of Daniel here. Back then, he'd been able to just go to Charlie's room, open up one of the suitcases, and go through Daniel's life.

He must have gone through that suitcase a dozen time in the first month, always putting everything back in its place when he was done, leaving it the appearance of being untouched.

Just in case.

He can still remember everything inside, can remember exploring Daniel piece by piece, learning the parts that made up the man he'd lied to protect. The most attention-getting piece was an old hardcover textbook marked up in three different colors of ink at at least twelve different times. There were several paperback books, only three in written in English, all similarly abused. He didn't ever read them, wasn't actually interested, but every time that he pulled them out, he'd look at Daniel's writing, where he chose to underline and how he couldn't quite resist crossing out sections of the text and writing what he thought was more accurate. Notes and notations filled the margins and Jack had turned each page carefully, looking at the splashes of color more as art than text.

There had been four changes of clothes and only two pairs of clean underwear. Lots of socks, though. The first time he'd gone through the suitcase, he'd reflexively folded the clothes and had needed shake them out and put them back in when he'd realized he'd changed things. He'd also found a spare pair of glasses in the pocket of one shirt and he could remember the urge he'd felt to go to Abydos and smack Daniel upside the head for leaving them behind.

When he'd tried them on, the world had blurred around him. The sickening feeling that it had given him didn't stop him from trying them on again every time that he went through the suitcase.

There'd been a fossil, wrapped in a faded olive shirt. He'd almost broken it the first time, fumbling in surprise at finding it hidden in the middle of Daniel's clothes. He'd rubbed his thumb along the edge, thinking of sand and sandstorms, then he'd carefully re-wrapped it. Each time he'd looked at it, he'd touched it in the same places.

The first time around, he'd been in on the joke. Doctor Jackson was dead and he was one of only a few on Earth who knew better.

He was in on the joke this time too, but it didn't help much.

Daniel wasn't really dead. Wasn't even as gone as Jack had thought he'd been back then, because he knew that he'd felt something yesterday. Knew that it was Daniel. Funny how that didn't make him feel any better right now, standing in a room that he needed to empty.

The second time, the joke had been on him. He'd ended up standing with Carter and Teal'c in a crowded and deserted room, exploring Daniel's life. That time, he'd really believed that Daniel was dead, even when he'd somehow known that it wasn't true.

Jack'd tried to repeat history, tried to leave the program again, but instead... well, Hammond had probably figured that packing up Daniel's life would be therapeutic.

At the time, Daniel had only been a part of SG-1 for a few months but he'd already had so much stuff that his place was practically overflowing.

He'd had Carter and Teal'c to back him up and together they'd figured out that Daniel wasn't really dead, that they had to save him.

But this time he already knew that Daniel wasn't dead. This time, someone else had been the one to save Daniel. And this time, he'd been Daniel's only back-up, the guy that Daniel'd trusted.

He was the one who'd killed Daniel. This was the third time he'd killed Daniel with words. The third time that Daniel wasn't really dead.

The third time that he'd been the person to keep what Daniel had left behind. There were journals and artifacts and knicknacks covering every available space.

He didn't have enough room for it all.

The first time, he'd only needed to hold onto two small suitcases. The last time, it'd been a few boxes. Well, more than a few, but he'd have had enough room for them at his place if Daniel... if he'd stayed away for longer.

Now, though, there was too much. He'd never be able to keep it all and it would be silly and wasteful and too damn sentimental to go as far as keeping the apartment.

But he'd keep what he could. Daniel would appreciate it. He wasn't dead, after all. Just gone.

And Jack knew how to handle gone.

the end


End file.
